<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Processing by oper_1895</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25006213">Processing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oper_1895/pseuds/oper_1895'>oper_1895</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Threads [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Jute - Freeform, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Rituals, Rope Bondage, Rope Treatment, Rope related activities, Shibari, no actual bondage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:02:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,051</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25006213</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oper_1895/pseuds/oper_1895</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky knew that he could buy their rope already treated, but some things were worth doing himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Threads [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810438</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Season of Kink</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Processing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to Lyndsea for the beta read!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The box had arrived earlier in the week, but Bucky knew this wasn’t a process he wanted to rush. So today, with Steve planning on spending the morning running with Sam and an open schedule stretching out in front of him, Bucky carefully opened the box, then glanced around furtively before leaning in and inhaling the scent of fresh jute. </p><p>He startled up at the sound of Steve’s stifled laugh. Steve was leaning in the doorway wearing his running gear and an amused grin. “You’re worse than Clint and his coffee.”</p><p>“Shut it,” Bucky warned playfully. “I’m doing this for you.”</p><p>“Oh right,” Steve wandered closer and picked up a stiff bundle of rope from the box, examining it absently. “You’re spending a day playing with rope just for me. You know we could just buy it treated.”</p><p>“It’s not the same.” Bucky reached for the rope. Steve laughed and held it away, luring him into reach so he could grab him in an awkward one-armed hug that had tinges of a headlock to it. After a brief laughing struggle/cuddle Steve relented, surrendered the bundle, and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek before heading out the door. “Have fun with your rope.”</p><p>“Don’t kill Sam!” Bucky waved Steve off before wandering out to the balcony where he’d already set up his little rope station. There was a wide diameter pole set into the deck, a small camp stove, a bottle of oil with a cloth, and a large square of deep blue cloth flecked with gold for the finished rope. The box joined the rest of the equipment and he took a deep breath.</p><p>Steve was right, there were definitely easier ways of doing this. Their first batch was purchased pre-treated and it was fine, but Bucky liked doing it himself. It was a metaphor. Simile? Analogy? Whatever. He does to rope as rope does to him. He cared for the rope and then somehow it felt easier to let that care come to him when the rope was in Steve’s hands. Like he deserved it  more... </p><p>Bucky turned his attention abruptly to the rope, unpacking the box and carefully uncoiling each one. He rolled a section between his fingers, feeling the prickle and testing the compression of the fibers. The rope was obviously new, stiff and toothy, but it was high quality and he could feel the promise in it. Spreading the rope between his hands, he pulled with his metal hand and let the rope drag over his right hand as he inspected each section for flaws. This was about getting to know the rope, he didn’t want to lose a moment of time against his skin. The repetitive <em>swiff thump</em> of the each section of rope gliding against his hands and falling to the ground in small coils was soothing. A bit of time and effort would turn this into something lovely. </p><p>He peeled off his shirt, tossing it onto one of the loungers, taking a moment to roll out his shoulders in the morning sunshine before getting to the real work. Starting close to one end, he passed the rope behind the pole, twisted the jute around itself a couple of times before pulling back with one end of the rope in each hand and holding tension against the pole. It took a couple of moments before he found his rhythm of pulling one side then the other, polishing the rope against itself. Vibrations hummed in his hands and arms as the rope dragged against itself, big long pulls warming and loosening the muscles in his shoulders as he slowly worked through each section of rope. A fine haze of fibers caught in the sunshine, caught in the faint sheen of sweat he was working up. He was going to need a shower after this. </p><p>He lost himself in the repetitive motions, the feel of the rope, and the warmth of the sunshine, and all too soon he’d worked his way to the end of the last rope. This little bit of gentle pressure knocked off the prickly edges and relaxed the rope. It was already feeling looser, if a little bit fuzzier.</p><p>That was easily fixed. Bucky moved to the table and perched on a stool, lighting the little stove. He started running the rope through the flame in quick short passes, watching the little bits of fuzz curl and drift away. The blue flame of the stove flickered gold as the fibers caught, flaring briefly before burning out. This seemed extreme, the heat, the fire. The first time he tried it he was too timid, too worried about damaging the rope, but with control and with care and just enough risk, the rope on the other side came out smoother. Rough edges were burned away. As the last ember snuffled out Bucky leaned back and stretched. </p><p>Next step - last step. The soft cloth was already oily from previous use, but Bucky poured on a bit more to make sure there was lots to give. Holding the cloth firmly against one end of the rope, he pulled the length through the cloth, one end to the other and then back again. There was care in this. The oil kept the fibers supple and strong, the rope came out of the cloth looking sleek and rich. </p><p>Bucky felt a smile tease at the edges of his mouth. The rope transformed from stiff and prickly to soft and smooth with a morning’s effort. He felt loose and satisfied as he carefully bundled up the finished rope, folding in repeating halves until it was roughly an arms length he could tie into a loose overhand knot. He placed it carefully on the clean fabric and picked up the next length. </p><p>The rope would never be truly complete, it was a perpetual work in progress. It would need oiling when it felt dry, and frequent checks to catch pops of fibers and signs it was aging. Use would soften it further until it felt like heavy velvet, weighty with care and soothed by attention.</p><p>After he finished the last piece, Bucky carefully tied the cloth into a neat little bundle. He’d leave it on their bed for Steve to find when he came home. A little gift of care.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>